Counting the stars
by cornelia.schuitema
Summary: Sherlock's eyes stared up at him, no past him. Up at the sky. At the stars. The moon. The moon was pale, white. A white circle ine the dark sky. Sherlock's skin was pale, as the moon. A pale dead face in the middle of the darkness. "Please Sherlock...breath...God dammit..." I do not own anything, the chararcters belongs to BBC and Sir Arthur conan doyle


**Counting the stars**

**A/N: I wrote this while I sat on the plane a while back, so it wont be the best I've written.**

John's POV

It was early in the morning when Sherlock got the call from Lestrade, asking him to come and look at a crime scene.

Sherlock was bored like hell, and even as the crime sounded incredibly dull, a triple homocide, nothing more, he decided to come.

Half an hour later he and John sat in a cab.

"Do I really have to come?" John said yawing."You said this case seemed dull. I don't see the point in coming. You will solve it in a few hours and then we'll be going home, a whole day wasted!"

"Why are you sulky John?" Sherlock asked, looking at John curiously."You usually think it is fun to follow me on cases, and you have asked me to take a case for almost two weeks."

"Yes I have. But it didn't mean I want to ride for an hour in a cab, just to look at a crime scene. I told you I had a date tonight!"

"You did? I must have deleted it."

For the rest of the ride they didn't talk very much. John looked out the window, wishing he had stayed at home. Sherlock had gone to his mind palace.

They arrived at the crime scene, in the middle of nowhere really. At the end of a small road, no houses in at least five miles. It was at a river, really beautiful place, if it wasn't for the three dead young men who lay on the beach. They had their whole bodies covered in wounds and were drowned in the river. It was the third case like this in the last tow months and the police was getting furious.

"Hey Freak!" Donovan shouted as they came closer.

"Oh...Sergeant Donovan"Sherlock said with a bored voice."You really need to get a boyfriend. Anderson's wife will suspect something soon."

He strode past her and walked up to Lestrade.

About nine hours later, they still hadn't left the crime scene. Sherlock was starting to get really furious. He had got nothing. The murderer was clever, really clever. Clever enough to hide all the clues.

John signed, he really wanted to get home. He hadn't been to any help at all.

Sherlock was pacing back and forth at the beach. Thinking, and screaming now and then. John didn't even bother to try and talk to him. He knew they wouldn't be going home anytime soon. As Sherlock suddenly stopped, clapping his hands together with his face lit up, he didn't even ask. When Sherlock a minute later disappeared into the woods, he didn't follow. He simply contiued talking to Lestrade.

Sherlock POV

'Oh I have been such an idiot' Sherlock thought, walking into the woods.' Of course it wasn't any clues at the crime scene! The victims wasn't even murdered there. They had drowned and then dumped in the river. Then they had been washed up at the beach downstream.'

That was why he walked upstream now. He was looking for the real crime scene.

Soon he found the place. Here the mud was full of footprints. At some places there was pools of blood. Here it was!

He soon discovered footprints leading away from the scene. He followed them. After a few hundred yards they disappeared out into the water. Sherlock looked at the ground and saw signs of a boat. It was quite fresh. An hour at the most.

He started to walk back to the others. He needed to get home and think. As he came back to the scene of the murder, he immediately saw that something wasn't right. The first and obvious thing was that a boat lay there, and then he saw that some of the blood was gone.

Somebody was cleaning up.

He suddenly heard a sound behind him and before he had time to turn around he felt a hard strike at the back of his head. He fell to his knees, for a second blinded by the pain. He tried to get up, but then he felt strong arms grabbing him from behind. He struggled and tried to scream, but then he felt a hand over his mouth and nose. He let out a choked sound. His attacker started to drag him towards the water. Sherlock screamed and tried to get away, but the arms was to strong. Then they were out in the water. The other man grabbed him in his arms and pushed him under the surface. Water streamed in to his mouth and nose. He struggled to get up but the man only held him tighter and pushed him further down.

He managed to get his head above the surface and he gasped for air. Then he was pushed under the water again.

His vision was starting to fade. It was getting darked at the edges. His body was getting sluggish and weak. He managed to get his head over the water again, and he drew a shuddering breath after air.

"Jo-John" He shouted before he once again was pushed under the water. This time he wasn't ready and he breathed in a mounthful of water.

His vision was getting darker and darker, his movements weaker. He pulled at the hands that held him down. But he couldn't get them away. He wane limp, to weak to move.

His sight darkened even more. Water streamed down into his lungs. The man let go of him, and he found himself floating at the surface, face down. He tried to turn around, but then the hands came back, holding him under. He was starting to get cold. The cold darkness grew around him. He was getting scared. He didn't want to die. Not like this, slow, painful...alone.

How long had it been since he left the others? An hour, more? Surely John would come and look for him soon. Yes, John would come. Soon. Just stay awake Sherlock.

'Please help me' he thought as his vision went black.

John POV

It had been almost an hour since Sherlock left, and John was starting to get worried. He had tired to call Sherlock. But he only got the voice mail.

As he rang for the tenth time, and the same thing, he got scared. He ran up to Lestrade who was standing at the cars getting ready to leave.

"Lestrade" He said" Sherlock is still not answering. Maybe something has happened..."

He saw that the DI was getting worried too. He really cared about Sherlock.

"God I hope not" Lestrade said" Come on John let's go looking for him."

They walked along the stream, just as Sherlock had done.

It was starting to get really dark now, and they had to use flash lights.

After about ten minutes they reached an other beach. The mud was full of footprints and at some places the ground was covered in something dark.

John kneeled down to take a closer look.

"Is it..?" he heard Lestrade say behind him.

"Yes blood... but it is old."

"Thank God" Lestrade said, and John heard him moving closer to the water.

"Oh God...Jesus...Sherlock" Lestrade suddenly screamed and John turned around.

There, in the light of his flash light something big and dark was floating, just under the surface. He soon recognised the dark messy curls of his best friend.

Lestrade was already out in the water. Wading towards Sherlock. John saw him turning Sherlock so he lay face up, and even in the weak light of the flash light he saw how incredibly pale Sherlock was. His face was almost white and he lay limply in Lestrade's arms.

"Call an ambulance John" Lestrade screamed, dragging the lifeless form of Sherlock out of the water.

Lestrede POV

He and John had started looking for Sherlock. God he hoped he was alright. He would never forgive himself if something happened to the kid. God, he was a pain in the ass somethimes. But it didn't matter, Lestrade liked the kid, and he knew that he cared. He was not a sociopath like he was claiming to be.

They got to an other beach, and Lestrade saw John kneeling at one of the dark pools on the ground.

"Is it..." he asked, not wanting to say the last word.

"Yes, blood" John answered, and Lestrade's blood ran cold. They were too late. God no.

"But it is old" John continued.

"Thank God" Lestrade said turning around towards the water.

The flash light fell upon something in the water. He walked closer and gasped as he saw what it was.

"Oh God...Jesus...Sherlock" He ran out into the water.'Please God let him be alive'

He got to Sherlock and turned the consulting detective around. His face was deathly pale. His grey eyes was open, staring up at him. But without seeing.

His entire body was limp and lay as dead weight in Lestrade's arms.

"Call an ambulance John" He cried, half carrying, half dragging Sherlock towards the shore.

'God no he isn't breathing'

He got up on the beach, dragging Sherlock behind him. He lay Sherlock on his back. Felt on his neck after a pulse. Nothing. His skin was so cold.

He started CPR. 30 compressions. Two breaths. He waited, still nothing. He started again. One..two..three... Hehind him John hung up on the phone...ten...eleven...twelve... he heard someone coming running trough the woods, he looked up. Anderson and Donovan. Twenty-one... twenty-two... twenty-three...Donovan said something to him. He didn't hear her. His blood was pounding in his ears... Twenty-nine... thirty... two breaths. He watched Sherlock's chest rise and fall... still nothing. Sherlock's lips was blue. Cold and blue. Like ice. One...two...three... John was sitting opposite him, he looked defeated. Anderson was gone, Donovan stood a few yards away. Crying.

"How long?" He cried. John looked up."John. How long? The ambulance?"

"Thirty minutes" John whispered."At least"

...Twenty-three... twenty-four... twenty-five... Sherlock's eyes stared up at him, no past him. Up at the sky. At the stars. The moon. The moon was pale, white. A white circle in the dark sky. Sherlock's skin was pale, as the moon. A pale, dead face in the middle of the darkness.

Twenty-nine...thirty... one breath... the rise and fall of the chest. Still nothing... one more breath... Sherlock was as still as before... one... two... three...

"Sherlock, you hear me" He cried, looking up he saw that John was crying."Don't give up Sherlock! Don't give up...nineteen...twenty... twenty-one..."

The night was quiet. Not a sound except Donovan's and John's crying, and his counting.

"Twenty-eight...twenty-nine...thirty..." Two breaths. The chest rose and fell. "Come on Sherlock...breath" he screamed" please!"

How long had he been here?

"...five...six...seven..."breathing for Sherlock, pumping his blood around his body?..eleven...twelve...thirteen..."Please Sherlock breath please." ...nineteen...twenty...twenty-one...

Was Sherlock dead already? Was he working on a corpse? ...twenty-seven...twenty-eight...twenty-nine.

"Please Sherlock...breath...God dammit...please breath"

Two more breaths...and then Sherlock's body jerked to life.

Sherlock POV

Someone was screaming at him. He couldn't hear the words. The sound was muffed. He looked up at the sky. So dark. Thousands of stars... so many... how many? One...two...three...four... The voice kept shouting at him. Figures danced before him. No, one figure. It screamed at him. Who was the figure? What did it say. Why would he care?

He was cold...so cold. He heard an other sound now. Crying... why was somebody crying? Oh right... he was dying... but there was something else...something important...he was dying... But that was irrelevant...something else... yes...right...he was counting... Counting the stars... 121...122...123

The voice kept screaming at him... something was punching on his chest... had done it for a while... cracked a rib? No two...

"Twenty-eight...twenty-nine...thirty..." someone else was counting? Why? Then air was forced into his lungs. Strange...

…199...200...201...202...

"Come on Sherlock..."

Now he heard the voice again...Lestrade's voice. Was he here...yeah...right...there was a case... There he was Lestrade... was he crying? Why?

"...breath...please"

Breath? Why? How? He was counting the stars... he couldn't breath when he was doing that... didn't have the time...

The voice was counting again. He counted the stars...337...338...339... so many stars...and one moon. Right above him, a pale white moon.

"Please Sherlock breath please" The voice, Lestrade's voice started to get annoying.

Maybe he should breath? Lestrade wanted him to. He tried to suck air into his lungs. But he couldn't. He couldn't breath.

"Please Sherlock...breath...God dammit breath!"

Lestrade was angry now... angry and sad... Lestrade forced more air into his lungs. He tried to breath again. He suck air into his lungs. But something was in it's way...water. The water in his lungs... then his whole body shook as he started to cough.

Lestrade POV

Sherlock started coughing, he choked on his own breath.

Lestrade rolled Sherlock over to his side, and rubbed his back as he vomited up the water.

"That's good Sherlock just breath"he said" You're gonna be okay..."

Sherlock had stopped coughing. He lay on his side, with his eyes squeezed shut, breathing deaply.

"'m... fine" he whispered, looking at Lestrade.

"No, you're not"Lestrade said, helping Sherlock to sit up."You died Sherlock... you was drowned, remember?"

Sherlock rested his head against his shoulder. He closed his eyes again.

"Yes...I remember..." Sherlock whispered, his voice hoarse."But I got better!" He chuckled a little.

They sat like that until the ambulance arrived. Sherlock's head against his shoulder. They sat in silence. Well...almost. Sherlock was counting again. Counting the stars.

**A/N: I hope you like it. Please review. **


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